


Crazy

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 40s AU, Electroconvulsive Therapy, Labotomies, M/M, actually, asylum AU, just one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire fall in love, in secret. His parents find out, and he's sent away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All his life, Enjolras knew he was different. 

In his childhood years, he often wanted justice where there was none, even in the classroom. He had gotten into several fights over the subject, and was eventually pulled out of school for his behavioral issues. However, it didn’t end there. 

As he grew, he became more and more diverse from his peers, like the ugly duckling being realized in a group. Where they were pining after women and girls, he was trying to ignore the dubbed “unnatural” feelings running through his mind towards those of his own sex. 

The more he aged, the more he came to terms with his sexuality. He read about it as much as he could in secret, sneaking into the library when nobody was around to read up on his type of people. His mother caught him only once, before wrinkling her nose and telling Enjolras to stop “wasting your time on such nonsense.” 

At eighteen, the young man was already enrolled in the best law school available by his parents, placed in the top classes to get him a well paying job. 

Along the way, he met Grantaire. 

Grantaire was beautiful, with brown eyes like chocolate and dark brunette curls that were always messy in a just-so sort of way. An art school reject and once almost-model, Enjolras ran into him as he was exiting the Musain, his favorite cafe. They talked, and Enjolras found that every word from the man was a sip of alcohol that he was slowly becoming addicted to. 

He wasn’t perfect, at all, but Enjolras loved him nonetheless. 

He smoked, like the majority of the population, and drank. Enjolras did neither. He didn’t specifically like Grantaire’s habits, but the brunette never drank with Enjolras in the room, and only ever smoked when they were outdoors. His vices were concealed in the face of Enjolras. 

They slowly spent more and more time together, and one day, after Grantaire had walked him back to his tiny flat, Enjolras had ruined absolutely everything by leaning up and pressing his lips to the other’s, pulling away after a prolonged moment. 

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-” He staggered back, blue eyes wide as he watched Grantaire for some reaction. 

The brunette man calmly set down his coffee on the table by the door and turned towards Enjolras, interrupting his frantic apologies by pressing his lips to Enjolras’ once more. 

He was stunned for a long while but eventually closed his eyes, his slender fingers sliding up to tangle in those unruly curls as he melted into the man. 

When the blonde boy pulled away for air and his blue eyes opened, Grantaire was smiling down at him with kind, genuine eyes. There was a brief moment of nervous silence, before Enjolras found it in him to speak. 

“Is it-are you?” Before his stuttered words could form a true question, Grantaire nodded. He felt a ridiculous grin spread across his face and looked down, realizing the man’s hands were on his waist. 

Grantaire nodded again, a large grin on his own lips. “I am. I was worried that you weren’t.” 

Enjolras glanced up shyly and bit his lip, before moving to his toes to kiss the man again, quick and unsure in his movements. “You should go.” He whispered, clearly displeased. But his parents would be by at any minute, and he couldn’t have them knowing about something like this. 

Grantaire understood, pressing his lips to the younger man’s cheek one more time before pulling away. He paused, and then made a decision. 

“Dinner? Tomorrow night? I’ll make something.” 

Enjolras scoffed, shrugging out of his red coat. “You can cook?” 

Grantaire grinned brightly. “Of course I do, don’t be silly.”   
\--  
“Hello.” Enjolras said, feeling timid in the man’s doorway. Grantaire grinned back at him, dark hair in its usual mess. “Grantaire?” 

“What is it, my dear?” He asked after the door was safely shut and locked, taking Enjolras’ coat right off of his shoulders. 

Enjolras inhaled deeply and immediately regretted it, wrinkling his nose. “What’s that smell?” 

The brunette sniffed the air, before suddenly growing pale. “Oh, no.” 

Running into the kitchen, he quickly tugged the oven open. He swore loudly and searched for a mitt, pulling a charred dinner out and setting it on the stove. 

Enjolras, who’d followed him into the tiny excuse of a kitchen, only smiled amusedly and shook his head. “So you can’t cook. That’s good to know, I suppose.” 

Grantaire glanced up at him to pout, looking down at what used to be a chicken. “Hush. It doesn’t look that bad.” 

“Perhaps you should try another hobby.” The blonde suggested with his still-amused smile. 

“I’m a painter, not a cook.” 

Enjolras only nodded and swept to his fridge, peering inside. “And I am neither. But I’m certain I can find something to make.” 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow and grinned, nodding. “Alright. It’s a cook-off.”   
\--  
It’d been nine months since their first date, and all was perfectly well. Enjolras moved into Grantaire’s flat under the pretense of friendliness. They were cautious, overly so, with a bedroom they shared and another casually mussed decoy bedroom, should a visitor come round. Their parents knew nothing, only that the two boys were good friends. 

“It’s ridiculous,” Enjolras said one late night, bundled against Grantaire’s chest. “Why should we have to hide who we are because other people don’t like it?” 

The man had tightened his hold on the blonde, sighing softly. “I don’t know, Enj. You know how the world is. People don’t like difference.” 

Enjolras closed his eyes and moved even closer to his boyfriend, feeling inadequate. “I don’t like that. We should do something about it.” 

That morning, though, was the one that everything changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you embark on this hopefully well-written journey I've prepared for you, I'd like to warn you about a few things you might find along the way. First off, the only knowledge I have of insane asylums in the time frame I've set is what I've learned off of American Horror Story and the internet. If any of my writings is incorrect, please feel free to let me know so that I can fix it! Also, for the triggers. I've already posted in the tags that Electroconvulsive therapy is used, along with conversion therapy for homosexuality. If this or anything else in the tags trigger you, I suggest that you read with caution. If there's anything else you'd like to know or anything you want to add, please let me know! I hope you enjoy this, and comments + kudos are always welcome!

“Grantaire, have you seen my-” 

Holding up the red coat, the brunette grinned. “What will you give me for it?” 

Enjolras huffed, reaching up for his coat, which was currently being held over his head. “What do you want? I’m late.” 

Grantaire used his free hand to tug the younger man’s hair out of its ribbon. “Now you’re even later.” 

The blonde boy scowled slightly, hair spilling over his shoulders. “‘Taire-” 

He finally dropped the coat and ribbon, his mischievous grin still present. “Alright, fine. But you will be home later, right?” 

Enjolras smiled softly, pressing his lips to the man’s cheek as he retied his hair. “Of course I’ll be home later. It’s only a two hour lecture.” 

He tugged on his coat and found his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Grantaire watched him, watched as Enjolras opened the door and turned to say goodbye. 

Without thinking, the artist lunged forward and kissed him deeply, his strong arms wrapping around Enjolras’ slender waist. The younger gave a small noise of surprise, the palms of his hands coming to Grantaire’s chest. He didn’t find the ability to push him away, though, and his hands rested there until he pulled away. 

“What are you thinking? The door’s wide open, ‘Taire. Somebody could’ve seen us. What then?”

“It’s alright,” Grantaire said, in a less-sharp whisper. “I’m sure nobody saw.” 

Enjolras sighed softly and peered out the door, nodding. “Alright. Just-you know, we have to be careful.” 

“I know, love.” Grantaire said. “That was reckless. I’m sorry.” 

Enjolras took his hand and held it for a moment, before letting go. “It’s alright.” He glanced out the door and stepped away, checking his watch. “But I’m really late, now. I’ll see you soon, though, okay?” 

Grantaire nodded with a smile, leaning back against the wall. “Alright. Bye.” 

The blonde boy pressed his lips together and nodded, departing after a prolonged moment.   
\--  
The lecture was very long and monotonous, and Enjolras found his mind leading him to Grantaire rather than the words at hand. With every moment, he felt more and more content with the idea of simply going home to see Grantaire. 

However, there was a slight drawback. 

As he stepped out of the lecture hall, books in hand, he caught sight of the two people he’d both feared and hated his entire life: His parents.

His mother leaned against their expensive car, while his father stood rigidly straight. He considered turning and running the other way, but shook his head. He was an adult, and he would act as such. He stepped off of the sidewalk and into the parking lot, walking somewhat wearily towards them. 

“Enjolras.” His father greeted once he was near enough, looking at his son oddly. 

“Father,” He greeted, tone just as icy as his elder’s. “What are you doing here?” 

“Get in the car, dear.” His mother chimed, opening the door for him. 

Enjolras hesitated, not wanting to go with his parents for a million perfectly plausible reasons. But he did, schooling his face into an emotionless expression as he climbing into the seat. His parents climbed in after him, his father waving at their driver. The car started, and Enjolras silently prayed they weren’t going far. “What is it?” 

His mother looked uncomfortable, terribly so, and his father looked stoic. “A neighbor of yours called us. Well, the said-” 

“They said they caught you kissing that boy, your roommate.” 

Enjolras felt his heart sink, but tried not to let it show “Was it Mme. Thenardier? She lies.” 

His mother looked away, pursing her lips. “No, it wasn’t.” 

Slowly feeling panic creep in, Enjolras frantically tried to find an excuse. “It wasn’t-I’m not-” 

She placed a hand on his knee, trying to smile. “It’s alright, darling. It’s all going to be okay.” 

Enjolras pondered what she meant, a spike of hope shooting through him. Did his parents truly accept him? 

His father spoke now, staring straight ahead. “Your mother and I have found a place where. . . where your kind can be put right. We’re going there now.” 

Enjolras’ heart sunk. 

He should’ve known. 

“N-no, you can’t. This isn’t your de-please, no. I’m not like that.” 

His mother gave an exasperated huff, shaking her head. “Enj, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. Come on, love, calm down. We’re going to get you all fixed up.” 

The car stopped. Enjolras looked out the window, and what he saw frightened him. 

The large building was old and gray, wiped clean of any defining features. In fact, he may not have known what the place was if not for the plain gray sign hanging above the large doors: Paris Asylum for the Mentally Insane. 

“Come on, out you get.” His father coaxed, taking hold of his arm and unceremoniously pulling him out of the car. 

Enjolras protested frantically, still pleading with his father as the doors opened and he was dragged inside. 

He lashed out, shaking his arm out of the man’s grip and turning towards the door as he heard his mother cry out. 

“Enjolras, darling, don’t make this worse!” 

Then something sharp sunk into his neck, and everything went black.   
\--  
His eyes opened, eventually. As they did, his vision had to readjust after blinking repeatedly and glancing around. The world soon came into focus, and he could see again. 

Gray. He saw lots of gray. He couldn’t move his arms. Or his legs. What was going on? 

When he found the strength to lift his head, he figured it out. 

He was in a boring, non-descript room with a cross above the heavy metal door, that didn’t have a knob. Aside from the tiny barred window and food slot at the bottom of it, the door held no connection with the outside world. No means of escape. 

Looking at himself, he found that he was strapped to the bed, his wrists and ankles tied down. His clothes were gone, traded for a mysterious almost-white hospital gown. And then, as Enjolras glanced around, a woman was sitting in a chair beside his bed. A nurse, to be exact. 

“Do not fret, child.” She tried to comfort, stroking the man’s mussed blonde hair, even as he panicked and tried to loose his bonds. “It will all be alright soon.” 

“Let me out. You have no right to do any of this, I never consented-” He started, rattling off every law he knew about such asylums.

Another nurse stepped into the room, one that looked much stricter than the first, and stared down at him. “In fact, we do. Your parents signed for you.” 

Enjolras continued to struggle, kicking his legs to no avail. “I’m twenty. You need my permission,” He replied, trying still to twist out of his restraints. 

The woman shook her head, taking a step forward towards the other nurse, watching Enjolras carefully. “But you are mentally unwell. You cannot speak for yourself.” She retorted simply, raising an eyebrow. “Therefore, the next liable guardians are your parents.” 

The man’s heart sunk, though he continued to struggle with his bonds. 

“We’ll never release you if you keep fighting.” The one said, still running her fingers through his blonde hair. 

After a few long minutes, the fight drained out of him and he fell limp, giving a tired huff. 

The kinder nun reached over to release his restraints, nodding softly. “I’m sorry we had to restrain you, but you were struggling, and we can’t have you hurting yourself.” 

Enjolras sat up and rubbed his sore wrists, nodding slowly. He did understand that much. Even still, he wanted out. 

Before he could say anything, the kind nurse departed and the other one stepped in front of his bed. His neck hurt and he moved his hand up to rub at it, wincing softly. She watched him a moment, before she spoke up. 

“You will be given clothes by the warden that will come in after I leave. Then breakfast will be brought to you. If you behave yourself, you can spend your free time in the Rec Room with the other patients.” 

He wanted to scream. He desperately wanted to lash out, to beat his fists against the walls until they bled. 

But that was what they wanted. 

If he did anything like what he wanted, he’d only be stuck there longer. He couldn’t be marked off as another crazy. He had to behave.

So he nodded numbly and looked at his hands, not trusting his voice just yet. 

The woman nodded with vague approval and turned on her heel, leaving Enjolras alone with his thoughts. 

Within a moment the slot at the bottom of his door clicked, and a bundle of clothes was slid to him. 

He stood on shaky, unused legs and stepped towards the door, looking up. The first thing he did was push on the door, then pull, trying to find some escape. The door didn’t move, of course, so Enjolras went on his toes and peered out the barred window, trying to get a look at the place. 

The hallway was old and dirty, a harsh difference from what the outside of the building was. Red stains lingered on the walls, and the floor was off-set, as if a particularly large man had stomped on the wooden panels. 

He changed in eery silence, finding himself in plain gray pants and a loose shirt of the same color. 

It was nothing for a while, no sound, nothing to look at other than the plain crucifix on the wall. He stood on his toes again and looked around, fear itching at the back of his mind. Was this how every day would be? Would nobody ever speak, or make any noise at all? 

But Enjolras heard a tiny noise, a simple thud, as if somebody was pounding at the door. Just down the hall. 

Looking across the simple hallway there, his eyes caught on something. 

Another pair of eyes, to be exact. 

They were large and green, and the rest of his face was obscured by the darkness and the bars of both of their doors. 

Enjolras didn’t have to speak first, because the pair of green eyes did. 

“W-Who are you?” The voice was soft and smooth, though it clearly belonged to a man. 

Shifting in his own prison, he continued to stare at those green eyes. “I’m Enjolras.” He replied softly, chewing on his lower lip. “Who are you?” 

The green eyes shifted, as if the man was tilting his head. “What are you in for?” 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell. But the eyes seemed so innocent, so full, he found it impossible to hide anything from them.

“I’m-ah-gay. Homosexual, I guess.” 

The eyes moved up and down. Their owner was nodding. “Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you here?” He asked gently, shifting his weight onto another foot. 

There was a brief moment of hesitation. “Same as you. And something else. It was a big word. Sch-Shizo-” 

“Schizophrenia?” He asked, watching the eyes. If it was schizophrenia, Enjolras assumed it was minor. The man seemed quite intelligent and easy. 

The faceless pair of eyes nodded back at him. “Right, that. And one more thing. Mood dis-disorder.” 

Enjolras nodded, thinking. “What’s your name?” 

The eyes suddenly grew happy, and he started to say something. But a noise sounded at the end of the hall, and the green disappeared. 

Gray again. 

Enjolras, too, stepped away, assuming his still-unknown neighbor knew something he didn’t. 

Just a moment later, his slot was opened and a tray of food was slid to him. 

Then the slot closed, and whoever was dishing out the food moved on. He was alone again. 

He didn’t feel very hungry but ate anyways, stomaching his bland oatmeal and tasteless apple juice. 

“Hey, Enjolras,” 

The blonde in question recognized the voice as Green Eyes’, and peered up from where he was sitting on his bed. “What is it?” 

He couldn’t see the other, but he could hear his smile. “I know things seem bad, but Sunday’s pancake day.” 

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile, just a bit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I accidentally spent two days doing absolutely nothing with any fanfictions I recently wrote! So sorry, and I'm going to post Chapter 4 today, also, and maybe Chapter 5. Hope you enjoy! (Very small TW: the words "fag" and "twink" are used as a derogatory reference)

What felt like an hour after breakfast, his door again opened. This time a warden stepped in, looking Enjolras over as if he’d already done something wrong. 

“It’s free time. I’m to take you to the Recreation Room.” 

Enjolras nodded, sliding off of his bed and walking beside the man. He looked stoic, like he belonged in a prison rather than a facility. 

They turned quite a few corners, Enjolras mentally filing away each one. Right, right, left, right, left, and through the door at the end of the hall. 

When the warden opened the door, it looked relatively like what he expected. Around twenty people milled about, all in the same plain gray pants. Some had on sweaters or sweatshirts rather than the shirts, and all seemed uncomfortable. A few people muttered, others rocked back and forth. They all appeared to be coping with their own issues. 

Before he could think too much, a group of three rather large men approached him. 

“You’re him?” One of them, the one on the left, asked. He was larger than the other two, and looked as if he belonged in a prison rather than an . . . asylum. He supposed he could no longer make judgements. 

“‘Course it’s him, you idiot, you seen him around before?” The one on the right replied. 

“I’m who?” Enjolras interrupted, looking between them. 

The one in the center, the leader, stepped forward. “The new guy. The fag.” 

Enjolras opened his mouth, a retort ready on his tongue, but the man shoved him lightly, sending the blonde stumbling. 

When he found it in him to look up, another man (more of a boy, really) was standing in front of the gang. He was much smaller than the three of them, but he didn’t appear to be afraid. “Montparnasse, stop it. You’re scaring him.” 

“Look at him, Jehan, he’s a twink!” 

The boy-Jehan, Enjolras remembered- paused. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Then am I a twink, too?” 

Montparnasse paused, his dark eyes softening. “No, Jehan, you’re not a twink.” He promised, pressing his cherry-colored lips together.

“Good. Now apologize to him and give me a hug.” 

He gave a huff and wrapped his arms around the small man, holding him close. “Sorry,” He mumbled to Enjolras over Jehan’s shoulder. After that he drew away and departed, his entourage close behind. 

The blonde boy, Jehan smiled softly in his wake before turning towards Enjolras, a smile still on his lips. “Sorry about him.” He said, stepping towards him. “Are you alright?” 

Jehan was beautiful. He had long blonde hair that was messily tied into a braid at the side of his face, and he had traded in his gray shirt for a pastel pink sweater that seemed to suit him just fine. He had a dried flower tucked behind his ear, and his eyes were a bright, vibrant green. 

Green Eyes. 

Enjolras came out of his thoughts and nodded, straightening. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright.” He answered quietly, unable to take his eyes off of the smaller man in front of him. “You’re the one I was talking to this morning.” 

Jehan smiled softly, nodding. “I am. I j-just, you needed a friend, I figured.” 

Schizophrenia. Slurred or jumbled speech. 

“Well, thank you.” He replied quietly, running a hand through his tangled hair. 

Grinning softly, Jehan put out his hand, as if testing the waters. “Come on, Enjolras. I’ll take you to meet some nicer people.” 

His hand awaited, and Enjolras took it after a moment. “Alright.” He nodded softly, unable to keep the smile off of his face when Jehan giggled and bounced further into the room. 

Enjolras looked around as he was led through the room, trying to take in as much as he could. 

Jehan guided him through the room, smiling and nodding at some of the patrons occupying some of the chairs at small tables with board games set out. 

Vaguely, Enjolras was planning to ask where they were going, but he didn’t have to. Jehan stopped(finally) in front of a couch, occupied only by one. 

The blonde boy dropped Enjolras’ hand and sat down beside the twitchy man, him having no choice to follow suit by sitting beside Jehan. 

“Hey, Joly,” The boy said quietly, setting a careful hand on the man’s shoulder. “How are you?” 

The man(Joly, Enjolras reminded himself) shook his hand off quickly, pulling his knees to his chest. “Don’t touch me, Jehan. I’m dying.” 

Jehan only smiled softly and shook his head, not reaching out again. “You’re always dying. What’s wrong today?” 

Joly huffed, shaking his head as if Jehan just didn’t get it. “I have all the symptoms of stomach cancer, and the doctors won’t give me anything to help.”

“That’s probably because last week you had liver cancer, remember? And next week you’ll probably have lung cancer.” 

Joly shrugged, worrying his fingers against his gray pants. “I did have asthma, as a child . . .” 

Jehan shook his head and turned toward Enjolras, criss-crossing his legs. “Tell me about yourself.” 

He didn’t answer. He could hardly think. Already, it was hard to remember his life outside of those plain gray walls. 

But his mind came back to him, and he took comfort in the memories. “I’m twenty years old. I’m-or was, I guess-attending law school. I lived with my . . . friend, Grantaire.” He could see a warden by the door peering at them. 

Jehan nodded understandingly, a slight smile surfacing on his features. “How’d you meet your friend?” 

Enjolras just then decided to truly trust Jehan. He liked the boy, sure. But he seemed so excited to hear his story that Enjolras’ heart melted with a new protectiveness for him. 

“At my college campus. He used to go to art school, but he left. Dropped out.” 

Nodding softly, a grin spreading over his features, Jehan nearly bounced in his seat. “That’s beautiful.” 

Enjolras smiled in return, nodding along with Jehan. “It was, I really-” He cut himself off, glancing around. 

Those green eyes looked understanding, and he took both of Enjolras’ hands with a kind smile. “Can I tell you about my friend?” 

Pressing his lips together, Enjolras nodded. “Of course.” 

Jehan wasted no time, his voice growing gleeful. “His name’s Courfeyrac. He was a law school student. He had really dark brown hair and it was all curly, and brown eyes. His smile was really bright and happy, like a puppy’s smile. And he made me laugh, and, and,” 

Enjolras got the feeling Jehan told anyone who would listen about his “friend.” It broke his heart, just a bit. And he had to ask. 

“Where’s Courfeyrac now?” 

He paused in his incessant stuttering and looked up, eyes shining. “Well, he’s looking for me, of course. There are lots of bad places like this one in France, he probably just hasn’t looked here yet.” 

This time, Enjolras’ heart split in two. “When was the last time you saw him?” 

Jehan looked weak. “Three and a half years.” 

Enjolras scooted forward, wrapping his arms around the small boy. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Jehan replied, and tears wet the collar of Enjolras’ shirt. “He’s coming. He’s just having some trouble finding me.” 

He couldn’t tell him. He just couldn’t.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, same day-delivery, Chapter 4! I hope you enjoy this, even though it's very possible it'll break your heart. (TW: Somewhat-graphic ECT [Electorconvulsive Therapy] is described in this chapter.)

It was three days later, after he’d experienced pancake day(“See? Nothing is as bad as it could be.”), he was brought into a dim room with a large machine and a hospital bed in the center. 

“What is this?” Enjolras asked, looking around. He was led to the bed by strong hands, and attempted to propel himself backwards. “What’s going on?” 

A nurse standing by nodded at the wardens, and they struggled Enjolras onto the bed. They fastened his wrists and ankles down, and soon enough something held his head down, too. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He said harshly, still trying to free himself. 

The resident doctor, Javert, appeared, staring down at him coldly. “Relax, boy.” 

“I want to know what you’re doing.” Enjolras snarled. “I have a right-” 

He was suddenly silenced, something large and rubber having been placed in his mouth. 

Two pieces of something were placed on his head by Javert, who didn’t bother with explanations. He stood over him with an icy look, readjusting the objects against his temples. 

Then he stepped back and nodded at the nearby nurse, Enjolras unable to make out his expression. Enjolras didn’t see what the nurse did in return, and didn’t have time to think about it.

Suddenly pain shot through him, cold and fast, waves of something running from his head to his toes. He screamed through the obstruction in his mouth, his muscles tensed against his restraints. The pain didn’t relent, and he was vaguely aware of Javert standing idly by, watching him. He felt as if somebody’d connected lightning to his head. 

It went on for what felt like an eternity. His body was so tense he was certain he’d sprained his wrist, or something much worse. 

Then, all at once, it was over. 

The pain of the entire affair lingered, of course. His jaw ached from biting into the harsh rubber block. His muscles hurt all over, and he was suddenly subject to an absolutely dreadful headache. His entire body throbbed, even as the block was removed from his mouth and the objects were taken from his temples. He was unbinded and guided out of the room, his feet aching even more so as he was nearly dragged towards the Rec Room. He remembered muttering about wanting to go back to his room, but the warden’s didn’t appear to hear him.   
\--  
When Jehan found Enjolras in the back of the Rec Room, curled up on the floor with his knees to his chest, he didn’t understand. But then Joly, who was having a rare good day, sat down beside him. “Enjolras, what happened? What did they do to you?” He asked, very hesitantly placing a hand on the blonde man’s shoulder.

Enjolras only shivered softly and pulled himself tighter, like a spring coiling. 

Jehan sat down beside the new blonde boy, inviting him into his arms. They’d adopted a sort of protective relationship. When the nurse had to force Enjolras’ pills into him because he refused to willingly swallow them, Jehan only hugged Enjolras tightly to him and reminded him that honey would soothe his probably-sore throat. 

When Jehan broke down for the second time about Courfeyrac(“What if he never comes for me?”), Enjolras had tossed his lunch roll across their hallway. It had landed miraculously in Jehan’s room, and it’d managed to cheer him up a bit. 

So then, it was Jehan’s turn. And he understood. 

“ECT,” He murmured, to Joly, who suddenly looked understanding. “It’s alright, Enjolras. They do that to us. It gets better. Soon enough, you won’t feel it as much. Your head won’t hurt as bad as it does now, and pancake day’s only five days away.” 

“Six.” Chimed Joly softly. 

Jehan shot him a briefly exasperated look. “Okay, six. It goes by fast, though.” 

He didn’t, however, mention the nightmares.   
\--  
Enjolras was running, running down a plain, narrow hallway. At the end of said hallway, Grantaire stood reaching out for him. His face was broken, his eyes lost. Enjolras kept calling his name, his throat becoming raw with his screams, but Grantaire didn’t appear to hear him. He only stood there, waiting for Enjolras to get to him. 

That was another part of the problem. No matter how much he ran, how far his feet carried him, Grantaire never got closer. He was always too far to touch, too far to hold. 

And then, when Enjolras reached the end of the hall, he was gone. As if a wall had been built between them. 

He screamed, his fists pounding against the impassable wall. His bare feet kicked, hands growing bloodied and bruised with his attempt at freedom. 

When he finally collapsed, Enjolras could’ve sworn he heard pounding on the other side of the wall, a distant yell heard. 

Enjolras stood up again, yelling, trying to fight his way through the wall with renewed force. 

He couldn’t break through. And soon enough, somebody dragged him away. Shoved pills down his throat, turned his brain to mush through electrical shocks. He screamed again, his voice raw with effort, trying to claw his way out of their grip. 

But nothing worked. Grantaire was gone, and Enjolras was alone.   
\--  
Enjolras woke with a gasp, trying to catch a breath he didn’t know he’d lost. He’s kicked off his sheets in sleep, and a cold sweat had set in, making his hair stick to his forehead. He pulled himself to his feet with a sudden restlessness, and found his hands were curled into fists at his side. 

When he uncurled them, he found four tiny, deep marks on his palms. A slow red line trailed from each of them, and he wiped them off with his sheets, trying to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. 

He paced, his footsteps hardly anything more than tiny sounds on the cold ground. 

In the silence, they seemed unbearably loud. 

They were loud, apparently, because Jehan’s tiny voice sounded across the hall. “Enj?” 

Sudden guilt having set in for waking the boy, Enjolras stepped towards his door to look out. 

There were Jehan’s green eyes, looking sad. Enjolras bit his lip. “Yeah, it’s me. Did I wake you?” 

“No. I don’t sleep much.” 

“What do you do?” 

Jehan’s pale arm appeared, a pen in his hand. “I write.” 

Vaguely, Enjolras thought about how he’d like to see inside Jehan’s room. He’d told Joly about a poem he was working on. Now, he figured he wrote on his walls. 

There was so much more to Jehan than his illness. Those that he was victim to, they weren’t major. He didn’t belong here. 

He vaguely promised himself that, should he ever make it out, he’d try to find Courfeyrac. Try to free Jehan. 

“Would you read me something?” He asked, voice soft. “It doesn’t have to be yours, I just . . . I need to calm down.” 

Jehan hesitated, and Enjolras heard a tiny noise. He was spinning around. “Okay. This one’s mine. 

_“Long green grass flows in the wind,_

_I see nothing but the sky._

_Just air and sky and grass and leaves,_

_more colors than what I remember,_

_mostly gray and black and it sometimes maybe scares me._

_They hid me and they took my sky,_

_but soon I will be free.”_

It was beautiful, there was no denying that. 

But however beautiful it was, it was very telling of the other boy. He’d been here so long. Enjolras couldn’t bear the thought of spending three and a half years trapped here. 

“That’s beautiful, Jehan. Truly.” 

Green eyes appeared at the window again. “Thank you. I was published, before I was sent here.” He could hear the man’s smile, though he couldn’t see it. He wished he could. 

Enjolras smiled himself, running a hand through his blonde hair and leaning against the dor. “Why don’t you sleep much?”

There was a moment of silence, before Jehan’s small voice broke it. 

“I don’t like it anymore. When I was a kid, I had nightmares a lot. After I moved in with Courf, they got better. I never dreamed at all when he was around. It was peaceful. Now, though . . . all my nightmares are about losing him.” 

Enjolras nodded. He knew the feeling. “He’ll come for you. One day.” 

“Promise?” Came his voice, small and fragile as glass. 

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments + Kudos are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Next chapter will be up on Monday (Tomorrow)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Guess who's actually on time for her updates! This chapter is maybe a little less heartbreaking, and such. Also, if you've been as excited as I am for Jehan and Courfeyrac to come together, your wait is over! However, there is still the issue of Enjolras. But fear not! It totally gets better! (Maybe)

It’d been seven months. In such time, Enjolras had gone through ECT treatments twice a week every week since that first day. Jehan had been right. The physical pain faded quicker and quicker, but the frustrating fact that he couldn’t remember much of anything, that twice he’d had to ask Jehan who Joly was, that his brain was turning to mush lingered. In fact, it grew. And it _hurt._

Enjolras was sitting in the Rec Room with Jehan, trying to calm Joly down from a panic attack before somebody saw him, when a woman appeared and guided Enjolras into a small room without explanation. 

The door shut behind him, as many did in this place. But this time, he wasn’t alone. 

“Enjolras,” Came a voice. Turning, the blonde’s eyes caught on two men, both looking near his age. One’s hair was a dark brunette, the other’s a lighter chestnut color. It was the latter that had called his attention, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Between them was a cold metal table. 

“Hello.” Enjolras said plainly, his eyes on the men. 

“I’m Combeferre.” The bespectacled man greeted, reaching out to shake his hand. 

Enjolras didn’t take it. “Are you doctors?” 

“No,” The other said, gesturing for Enjolras to sit down as they did the same. “We’re lawyers.” 

“We’re friends of Grantaire.” Combeferre said, his voice lowered. 

The blonde almost cried. His heart leapt, and he felt a sort of giddy excitement flow through his blood. “Really?” He asked, breath short. “Where is he? What did he say?” 

Combeferre nodded softly, smiling a kind smile. “He couldn’t come. He didn’t want to get you in trouble. But he did give us a letter. Courfeyrac, could you-” 

“Wait.” Through his cloud of grateful excitement, his mind caught on something. “What’d you say your name was?” 

“I didn’t.” The man replied, smiling softly. It didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “It’s Courfeyrac.” 

Enjolras stared for a moment, realizing that he fit the description completely. He had to ask. “You wouldn’t happen to know a boy named Jehan, would you?” 

The man, who had been digging through his bag, stilled abruptly. He turned around after a moment of recovery, brown eyes wide with hope. “Did you say Jehan?” 

Nodding softly, Enjolras stared at the man. “Yeah.” 

“Blonde? Poetic? Vaguely schizophrenic?” 

He nodded through it all, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah. He’s here.” 

There was a very long beat of stunned silence. Courfeyrac glanced to Combeferre, then back at Enjolras. “H-He’s _here?_ ” 

Enjolras nodded again, watching the way Courfeyrac slowly turned to Combeferre with a pleading look. The bespectacledman put a hand up before he could speak, nodding. “Go on. I’ll take care of this.” 

Courfeyrac looked so grateful he almost seemed as if he’d kiss the other. “Thank you, thank you,” He said numbly, stumbling out the door without a second glance. 

Combeferre only smiled softly and shook his head, digging an envelope out of Courfeyrac’s forgotten bag. “I’m sorry. Ever since Jehan was taken, he hasn’t been the same. He’s been searching, but told me he’d given up on it a few weeks ago. I can’t believe we didn’t think to check here.” He shook his head, passing the envelope to the blonde. “This is from Grantaire.” 

Accepting the envelope, Enjolras slowly opened it up and withdrew two pieces of paper. He glanced up at Combeferre for a moment before unfolding it, silently reading through the words below. 

_Dearest Enjolras,_

_Wow. I actually found you. Well, I beat up one of your parent’s assistants. From then, it was pretty easy._

_Alright, I’ll stop trying to pretend that this is entirely normal. It isn’t. And it sucks. But fear not! I’m gonna get you out. Or rather, they are._

_The people who just handed you this very letter are friends of mine. Lawyers, actually. Like you. And they’re going to do everything they can to get you out. Courfeyrac’s like us. He lost somebody to this. All he wants to do now it make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else. Combeferre’s actually the brilliant one who knows law and such._

_They think there’s a way to get you out, but you’ve gotta do everything they say. I know you don’t like respecting authority._

_But you have to get out. For you. Those places are bad Enj. I hope you’re okay._

_I wanted to come and see you. I really did. But Courfeyrac and Combeferre didn’t want you to get in trouble with me around. So, I have to be content with writing you this letter from my desk while they’re out there with you._

_I miss you too much. When I wake up sometimes, I think you’re right beside me, and I roll over to see your blonde hair and your perfect blue eyes open. But then, you’re not there. And I feel this big empty hole in my chest and it feels like somebody’s in there, tearing me apart._

There were tears in Enjolras’ eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. He only sniffled and looked at the next page, continuing on. 

_I’ve been painting a lot. Most of it’s you. I’ve even sold a few. ‘The boy with the blonde hair,” and “blue eyes.” Made a few dollars off of them, anyways._

_The really good ones I keep for myself. They’re in my studio. Every time I walk in, you’re there. It’s comforting. And it kind of makes me want to cry a bit._

_I should wrap this up, even though I really don’t want to. If I could write you twelve volumes, I would. But I know that you and the lawyers have things to talk about, so I’ll leave it._

_I love you. So much. Too much._

_Love (obviously),_

_Grantaire_

Enjolras couldn’t help it. Tears slipped silently down his cheeks as he refolded the papers and slid it into the envelope once again. He passed it across the table to Combeferre, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. 

Combeferre respectfully gave him a moment to compose himself, clearing his throat once he was sure Enjolras was ready. “Now, I think it’d be best to discuss ways to warrant your release.” 

Enjolras nodded in confirmation, and Combeferre continued. “It won’t be easy. Unfortunately, as a mental patient, you don’t hold much legal standing. Grantaire would only make your case worse. Your parents won’t testify against, considering they put you here. Basically, we’re at a standstill. So the only thing you can do is get out from the inside.” 

Enjolras swallowed. “What does that mean?” 

“Well, a number of things. You’ve undergone electroshock therapy, right?” After a nod, Combeferre kept going. “We could claim your recovery through that. We could transfer you to a more forgiving facility. And the best option right now is, well, conversion therapy.” 

“What do you mean by the best option?” 

Combeferre hesitated, shrugging. “It’s rumored to be the most effective form of conversion therapy in our day. It would be more convincing to have a quick recovery through that.” 

“You said it’d be faster?” 

A nod. 

“I’ll do it.” Combeferre raised an eyebrow, chewing on his lower lip. 

“It won’t be easy.” 

“I didn’t think it would be.” 

“And you’re sure about this?” 

“Positive.” 

Combeferre nodded hesitantly. “Alright. I’ll let Valjean and Javert know.”   
\--  
“Jehan?”

“Yes?” 

“There’s a visitor here for you.” 

“A visitor?” Jehan hadn’t had a visitor in . . . never. He’d never had a visitor. 

He stood up from the couch he’d been sitting on, following the woman into a plain room. This one only had two chairs. 

Standing behind one, looking only slightly different from the way he’d looked three years ago, was Courfeyrac. 

His brown eyes shot up, and the nurse had barely closed the door when Jehan crashed into his chest. 

Courfeyrac was quick to wrap his arms around the man, falling back against the wall as he closed his eyes and held him tighter. 

Jehan was sobbing against his chest, tears wetting his shirt. Neither one of them cared. “I knew it,” He murmured over and over again, voice muffled by the man’s chest as he gasped. “I knew you would come for me. I just knew.” 

They slid to the floor, neither leaving each other’s arms. “I searched, flower. I swear I did, but I couldn’t find you, and-” 

“Sh.” Jehan said quickly, looking up at him with watery green eyes. “It’s okay. Have you moved on?” 

Courfeyrac shook his head, pulling him closer. “No. Never.” 

Jehan’s smile was still as beautiful as the last time he saw it. He shifted closer still, leaning his ear against Courfeyrac’s chest. The brunette only grinned softly, letting him listen to his easy heartbeat. 

“I love you, Jehan.” 

“I love you, too.” Jehan said, without a bit of hesitance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Kudos + Comments are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Next Chapter will be up on Tuesday (Tomorrow)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, Q's on time again for her updates! 
> 
> This one was absolutely heartbreaking to write, but of course it wouldn't be one of my fanfictions if somebody wasn't terribly injured or, in worst cases, dead. However, I hope you enjoy anyways! Good luck to all of you! (The TW for lobotomies start here, but they're just mentioned.)

Conversion therapy was awful. 

His ECT treatments were increased to four times a week rather than two, sometimes more than only once a day. 

They were slow and painful, and each time his memory only grew worse. He’d been introduced to Joly six times in only a month, and once to Jehan.

Then, there was the hard part. 

Once a week, Enjolras was hooked up to some nausea-inducing drug and placed in front of a projector. 

Valjean, the facility’s therapist, flicked through pictures of men, some crude and some simply pictures of normal, averagely attractive men. With each picture the drug was distributed, and he was given a bucket to retch into. 

He was doing particularly well one afternoon, working off of an empty stomach. Valjean, looking only partially sorry, changed the photo, another one of the simple, easy ones. 

But this one was different. 

“Grantaire.” 

He’d used to dabble in modeling. How could he have forgotten? This particular picture, the one on the screen, sat on his bedside table. He used to see it every morning when he rolled over to turn off his alarm. 

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Valjean, hearing the uttered word, glanced down and opened up the IV to Enjolras’ arm. 

No. He wouldn’t let himself. He stared at the pictured because he had to, his eyes on the man he was doing this for. 

He looked younger than when Enjolras had met him, his eyes just as beautiful in black and white. His hair was somewhat tidier than it usually was, and- 

Enjolras leaned into the bucket, coughing and retching dryly as he tried to remember how to breathe. How to do anything. 

Valjean turned off the projector and withdrew his IV, passing the blonde boy a glass of water. 

He watched the patient drink, leaning against his desk. “Enjolras, this clearly isn’t working.” 

No. He had to make it convincing. It had to be working. “I beg to differ. I feel much better.” He replied, voice hoarse. 

“It’s alright. There are . . . other routes we can pursue.” Valjean replied quickly. 

“This is working.” Enjolras argued, drinking his water again. “It takes time, right? You said it yourself.” 

“It shouldn’t take this much time.” He paused, looking over the blonde before nodding. “Go on. Rec Room’s open.” 

Enjolras shakily stood and left, walking down the memorized halls that he’s forgotten how to navigate twice already. 

The doors opened when he pushed on them, and Jehan flocked over from where he was sitting next to Montparnasse and his menagerie. 

“Are you alright?” Jehan asked, leading him to an empty couch. “You’ve been doing conversion a lot. You should ask for a break. They’d probably give you a few days.” 

Enjolras simply shook his head, letting Jehan bundle him under a nearby blanket. He felt unusually cold. “I can’t. I’m almost there, Jehan.” 

The younger sighed softly, getting up to retrieve both of their pills and cups. He returned and handed Enjolras them. 

He reluctantly swallowed, recognizing the dark blue of the asylum’s sedative. 

Jehan only took two tables out of the three in his cup, crumpling it and throwing it into a bin before somebody could check him. 

Enjolras was soon taken back to his room, just as his eyelids were starting to droop. Doctors were standing outside his door, and he only caught a few words. However, there was much more to be heard.   
\--  
“There isn’t any hope.” 

“I figured.” 

“His homosexual tendencies don’t seem to be improving. We’ve tried everything.” 

“Have you signed the paperwork, then?” 

Valjean nodded softly. “Prefrontal lobotomy. I’ll be performing it this afternoon.”   
\--  
Ten months. It’d been ten months since Grantaire had woken up to blue eyes, blonde hair. 

And he still wasn’t used to it. 

Even still, though, he rolled out of his too-large bed, walked past Enjolras’ decoy bedroom, and made himself a cup of coffee. 

He didn’t add the alcohol that he wanted to. Enjolras wouldn’t approve. 

The doorbell rang, and he wordlessly moved to open it. He opened it up slowly, looking up at the people in the doorway. 

Two brunettes, and a blonde. Said blonde lingered behind Courfeyrac, and for a moment Grantaire thought it was Enjolras. Thought that they’d brought him home. 

But oh, he was wrong. 

This blonde was different, he found as Combeferre and Courfeyrac stepped in without invitation. He was even thinner than Enjolras. His hair was longer and braided at the side of his face, and his eyes were green instead of blue. He was in his pajamas, and grasped Courfeyrac’s hand without the intent of letting go. Grantaire barely recalled a name. Jehan. 

Everybody stepped inside, and Grantaire looked up expectantly. They had news. It was clear. 

Courfeyrac kicked off his shoes and tugged off his coat, smiling as Jehan toed off his own shoes and gravitated towards the window, sitting down on the seat there and pulling the brunette with him. 

“Grantaire, this is Jehan.” He introduced, his eyes never leaving the blonde. 

The man nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “Hello.” He greeted, looking over the boy. 

“Courf got me out of the bad place.” He said proudly, his smile too bright to suit the occasion. 

“We have news,” Combeferre interrupted, never one for small take. “You may want to sit down.” 

That didn’t sound good. Even Jehan sobered and looked down at his and Courfeyrac’s entwined hands. 

He did sit, cupping his hands around the burning cup of coffee. And it did burn, but he didn’t notice. Didn’t care. 

“I went to visit Enjolras last night, to see how he was doing. But when I got there, they wouldn’t let me see him. I asked why, and . . .” 

He trailed off, but Grantaire wouldn’t allow it. “What? Tell me, ‘Ferre.” 

The bespectacled boy grimaced, pacing thoughtfully. “And he’s in recovery. For a . . . a lobotomy.” 

The room fell silent. Jehan winced, scooting closer to the man beside him. 

“What is that? What?” Grantaire asked desperately, turning towards Jehan with worried eyes. 

The boy didn’t reply for a moment, lost in thought. Then, realizing that that the attention was on him, shrugged sheepishly. “Sometimes it works. I knew one lady, Eponine, who had one and she was fine. Better, even. She was released. But, most of the time, it doesn’t end so well.” 

“We’ve convinced Enjolras’ parents to sign the papers necessary for his transfer. There’s a really nice one, just a few miles from here. Visiting hours aren’t limited, and they don’t endorse conversion therapy. It’s much cleaner than the one he’s in now. He’s being transferred today, I believe.” 

Grantaire felt sick. Sometimes they worked. He still held up some form of hope, for the first time in his entirely cynical life. It was all that he had. “Alright,” He managed, setting his coffee down before he could drop it. “When can we see him?” 

“Tomorrow afternoon, if you’d like.” Courfeyrac replied, watching Grantaire carefully. 

The brunette nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos + Comments are, as usual, greatly appreciated! If you've already left either I think you're really sweet, so thanks! 
> 
> The next and final (sigh) chapter will be up on Wednesday (tomorrow)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Quite a bit of work, a lot of 40's research, and creeping out anyone who'd listen about lobotomies and ECT, here it is! The final chapter! I hope you all love it! (TW: Very brief description of Enjolras' defiance during his lobotomy.)

Enjolras’ mind was cloudy. It hadn’t gone over well. From what he could understand of the nurses speaking, he’d woken up mid-procedure with an ice pick in his eye and started fighting. Now, though, he could only focus on the throbbing pain coming from his eyes, which he could hardly open enough to see. Nurses and doctors swarmed around him, and they sounded different than the ones before. 

Confusion set in, and he closed his eyes.   
\--  
“I don’t think I can do this.” 

Jehan reached out for Grantaire’s hand in some attempt to comfort him, but he pulled away. “Just think about how he’s feeling. What he’s thinking.” 

“If he’s thinking.” 

“Stop that.” Courfeyrac said, holding Jehan’s free hand in his. “It isn’t ideal. But you love him, don’t you?” 

Grantaire closed his eyes, nodding softly. “Of course I love him.” 

“Then you’ll make it work. You have to.” Jehan told him, putting a hand on his arm. 

They all waited for him to take a deep breath and nod, before they stepped through the doors of Lamarque’s Hospital for the Mentally Unwell. 

Combeferre hung back to see about getting the four of them permanent visitors badges, while Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Grantaire followed a kind looking nurse down the hallways. 

Passing by a Rec Room Jehan paused, stopping Courfeyrac with him. “Joly?” 

The man looked up, smiling brightly and standing. Behind him, a large man and a petite woman smiled up at him. 

“Jehan! You were transferred, too?” 

“No, released. You look good, happy?” Jehan replied, grinning brightly. 

“Well, I met these two, and they really helped-oh, right. Jehan, this is Bossuet, and that’s Musichetta.” 

Jehan greeted them kindly and introduced them to Courfeyrac, his hand never leaving the lawyer’s. 

Grantaire watched them, lingering in the doorway, before the nurse tapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, recovery’s this way.”

He followed her wordlessly, alone, nervous, hopeful, and dreading. 

Leading him through a door and down a hallway, the nurse seemed to sense his nervousness and spoke in an attempt to break the tension. “He’s doing really well. The swelling is going down in his eyes, and he’s sitting up.”

That wasn’t what he was worried about. But it provided some form of comfort to him. “What about, you know, mentally?” 

She shrugged slightly, stopping outside of a door. “We don’t know yet. Once we get him out of recovery, we’ll be able to assess his mental health. He’s just through this door.” 

Grantaire swallowed nervously and nodded, opening the door and stepping in. He shut it behind him, and the sound seemed to rouse the boy on the bed. 

He looked awful. His eyes were terribly bruised, and his hair was messy and pressed against his forehead in unreal ringlets. 

Grantaire, as quietly as he could manage, pulled a chair up to the side of his bed and sat, his heart pounding. “Enjolras?” 

The blonde stirred but didn’t move any more than he had to, shifting his head slightly. “Who’s that?” 

Would he remember him? “It’s me, Grantaire.” 

A slight smile appeared on his face, though it was distant, like he was lost in some dream world the brunette could never be a part of. “Grantaire,” He said dreamily, his smile gentle. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Grantaire replied, simply grateful that the man remembered him at all. “How are you feeling?” 

“Okay,” Came the man’s vague reply. He reached his hand out, and Grantaire took it. “My eyes hurt a bit.” 

His words were slurred slightly, and he tripped over them on occasion. Grantaire tried to ignore it. 

“That’s too bad.” He said, stroking the back of Enjolras’ hand with his thumb. “They’ll get better, I’m sure.” 

“The doctor said they would. They gave me help to something, too, I think.” He used his free hand to tap the IV secured with tape on his arm.

Grantaire nodded, tears finding his eyes as Enjolras confused the word _something_ and _help._ As good as it was that he could get the man talking, it broke his heart nonetheless.

The room settled into silence for a while, before the man on the bed spoke up. “Grantaire?” 

“Yes, Enjolras?” 

There was a long pause. “Will you visit me a lot?” He asked, toying with the man’s fingers absently. 

Grantaire nodded, using his free hand to wipe away his tears. “Everyday.” 

Another long pause. “Good.” 

“Enjolras?”

“What is it?” 

“I love you.” 

There wasn’t a single bit of hesitation in his voice. He glanced up just in time to see Enjolras’ smile, the one he’d fallen in love with. “I love you, too.”   
\--  
“Hey, Enjolras.” Grantaire greeted, his voice quiet compared to Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre’s. 

It’d been three months since Enjolras had been transferred, and Grantaire had come to visit him every single day. Once a week, he brought the other three with him. So, on that Wednesday he led them into the Rec Room, where Enjolras almost always was. He would be writing, and when he proudly displayed his work, it would be a crooked line of half-letters and mangled words that Grantaire couldn’t make out. He smiled and nodded anyways, though, and accepted the crumpled paper when Enjolras offered it. He kept them, too, taped into a notebook made by Jehan. The boy was getting even better now that he was released, although he never left Courfeyrac’s side. 

Enjolras now glanced up from the book he was squinting at (it was upside down, but nobody had the heart to mention it), and smiled. “Grantaire.” 

They’d been lucky. Enjolras’ memory only worsened once every few weeks, and he was slightly better off than the other lobotomy patients, considering he spoke and smiled and such. 

When everybody settled after saying hello to the blonde they sat down, talking and laughing. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta joined them, as they often did. 

Grantaire knew all too well that Enjolras didn’t understand their conversations. Didn’t bother trying. Even still, though, he held Grantaire’s hand and smiled serenely, as if he was in heaven. 

It shattered his heart every time, but he had to stay. 

He was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Those of you who read all of it enjoyed! 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought about it in the Comments! And Kudos are awesome, too! Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one should be up Wednesday, but definitely by Thursday. Comments + Kudos are always welcome!


End file.
